"I told you I'd make you a rebel."
"Shut up and unlock the door."
Billy crouched down, hairpin jammed in the lock. My sharp eyes grazed over the backyard. Everything was still and quiet, from the white stone pathway headed down to the rickety clothesline, to the neatened grass, trimmed, running along to the rusted back fence. I flicked my hair out of my eyes, tapped my foot impatiently.
"Come on, Billy."
"I'm going as fast as I can."
He narrowed his eyes, steadying his hands.
"Ad," he said quietly. "Don't get me wrong – I love this new-found rebelliousness in you – but why exactly are we breaking in? There's no one here."
"Frank said he'd be here, but that was before Dad put us under house arrest." I raked my hand through my hair. "We need something to go on. If he's not here, then maybe something is that can point us in the right direction."
"So you're hoping that something inside will point us towards Seth?"
"I'm hoping to find something in there that can tell me if he's guilty or not."
Billy's mouth twitched.
"Seems like a bit of a stretch."
"Well, it's all we have," I snapped.
The tone in my voice caught me by surprise. I immediately paused, my eyes slightly widening.
"Sorry," I mumbled, looking down at my shoes. "It's just... we only have a few days left now. I just need something to go on. A lead. Evidence."
Billy looked up at me, his eyes soft and understanding.
"I know," he said, his hand finding mine.
I breathed out a sigh, nodded, and Billy went back to work on the lock.
"You're not in love with him, are you?" He asked, amusement in his voice.
"God, no," I exclaimed, disgusted. "He's older than Dad."
"Just making sure."
I couldn't see his face, but I knew he was smiling.
The back door popped open and Billy got to his feet. I peered inside, breathing in the scent of old smoke and mothballs.
"Ready?" I asked him as he dusted off his knees.
"I guess."
The two of us took a deep breath, then stepped across the threshold.
The home itself was of modest size, big enough for two people. I looked into the kitchen and dining table area. A small table with four leather chairs, but two were more weathered than the others. The kitchen was neat but not impeccable, like the ones you see in magazines. It was lived in, comfortable. More importantly, it was quiet. Deserted. It made me feel safer.
"Are you sure about this?" Billy asked.
I smiled.
"You losing your edge, little brother?"
"Never," he said quickly, straightening up.
I followed him down the hallway, passing the living room, where two large armchairs and a long leather couch sat. I eyed the television, off, rabbit ears standing tall, before moving along.
"We should find his bedroom," I said.
Billy nodded.
Continuing down the hallway, we came to the front door. Through the windows either side of the wood, I saw the reporters camped out on the grass, their voices floating under the door and into our ears.
"Here," Billy said, pushing open another door.
We looked inside at the large bed, its quilt laced and worn, and a dressing table with several bottles of perfume and makeup. The aunt's room, no doubt. I gave Billy a look.
"What? I didn't know." He grumbled.
We turned, looking at the last door, touched the handle.
"Who the hell are you?!"
Billy and I both flung around, the colour draining from our features. A middle-aged woman glared at us, and we both froze.
"Your Seth's aunt," I exclaimed.
"You fucking reporters. Get out of my house or I'll call the police."
"We're not reporters," Billy said quickly, eyes wide with panic.
"Then who are you?"
"Friends," I said. "We're friends of his – of Seth's. We heard he was missing and came to see it for ourselves."
"Well, it's true. Can you leave now?"
"We think we might know where he is." Billy blurted out.
I eyed him, unsure where he was going with this.
"Alright," she said, shifting her weight and crossing her arms. "Where is he then?"
"Well..." Billy trailed off.
"We don't know exactly where he is," I started. "But we think it might have something to do with Susie Dawson. Do you remember her?"
"That girl was nothing but trouble. I told him that the day he started dating her, but he never listens to me."
"Do you..." I paused. "Do you think he might've had something to do with her death?"
"Oh god, you really are reporters aren't you?"
"No, no. I swear." Billy promised.
"Get out before I call the police."
"Wait!"
"Please, ma'am. We just want to find Seth."
"No you don't. You just want somebody to blame. You all do."
"Please, just tell us. Do you know where he was that night?"
"I already told the police – "
"Please!" I cried. "We need to know. To find him."
The aunt paused, her hard eyes darting between us, weathered skin scrunched up.
"He was with me that night. I made him dinner, we sat down to eat, then we watched some television and went to bed late."
"And you're sure he never left the house?"
"We had a dog then. He barked whenever the front or back door opened, or even if someone tried to get out using a window. I would've heard him."
My lips thinned to a line. Another dead end.
"Thank you," I whispered, stepping past her. "We won't bother you again."
Slowly, I opened the front door. The reporters all shot up from their seats, ready with cameras and microphones, but they soon saw our faces and paid no attention. Billy and I hurried down the path and out onto the gloomy street.
"Did you hear that?" I asked. "What she said?"
"Seth was with her all night," he echoed. "She could be lying, you know."
"No. No, I don't think she was lying."
We both fell silent for a heartbeat, lost in thought.
"Another dead end," I whispered.
"We'll find something, Ad," Billy swore, slinging his arm around me. "We just have to find the right place to look."
"Don't you get it?" I snapped, pushing him away. "There are no more places to look. We've gone over those files a hundred times, talked to every person Susie spent time with. There's no one."
"We still have the blond hair."
"A blond male," I scoffed. "Even you said that was a far stretch."
"Well what are we supposed to do?" He asked. "We can't give up. They're going to kill him."
I paused, thinking it over. We'd talked to anyone and everyone who knew Susie Dawson. We'd been chasing ghosts across town, digging up bodies, getting shot, escaping fires, and in the end, it all led up to nothing. Not a single decent clue. I reached over and grabbed my brother's good hand, squeezing it tight.
"Come on," I said, pulling down the path.
"Where are we going?" He asked.
"To say goodbye."
© A.G. Travers 2018